Prostates and Plum Pudding
by hwshipper
Summary: There was a short silence in which Brian could almost hear an unspoken discussion, before House looked away and snapped, "Fine. I'll do it." Chris has collapsed; House, Wilson and the team are on the case with the differential diagnosis.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Prostates and Plum Pudding  
**Author**: hwshipper  
**Characters**: House/Wilson established, OMC/OMC (Chris/Brian)  
**Beta**: many thanks to srsly_yes

**Summary**: Wilson gears up to perform a prostate operation; House tries not to betray too much interest.  
**Excerpt**: _House nodded at the briefcase, which Wilson had set down on his lap. "What's in the bag? If it's not edible or lubricating then get it out of this room."_

**A/N**: Featuring various canon characters, including Nurse Jeffrey Sparkman from 6.09 _Ignorance is Bliss_, who popped up in a tiny supporting role here and refused to go away.  
House and Wilson last encountered my recurring original characters in The Life of Brian, but no previous knowledge required.

**  
Prostates and Plum Pudding**

House was in bed reading by lamplight when he heard the front door open, then slam; Wilson was home.

"Hey!" House shouted, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.

"Hey!" a muffled voice called back.

House closed his book and waited patiently for Wilson to divest himself of coat, shoes and other outdoor paraphernalia and join him in the bedroom. Such actions always took Wilson far longer to do than they should, owing to his indefensible propensity to hang up his coat, put away his shoes neatly, and so on.

Wilson duly appeared, looking rather adorably windswept and still carrying his briefcase. The latter was curious. It should be placed neatly at the bottom of the hall closet by now, or perhaps placed on the kitchen table if paperwork was to be sorted out. It should not be brought in the bedroom.

"Hey," Wilson said, stopping to kiss House on the mouth, then walking around to sit down on his side of the bed. Wilson had insisted that he sleep on the side of the bed he was used to as _his _when they'd first moved in together; House had initially had some fun falling very soundly asleep on the side Wilson had claimed. But truth be told, House didn't actually mind, and had let that battle die.

"Hey." House nodded at the briefcase, which Wilson had set down on his lap. "What's in the bag? If it's not edible or lubricating then get it out of this room."

"It's not either, unless you want to nibble on an MRI scan." Wilson opened the briefcase and held up a scan in front of House's nose. "What do you make of this?"

House squinted at it, then took it and turned to hold it up to the lamplight. "I think...you'll be carrying out a radical prostatectomy in the near future. And hope the cancer's still confined to the prostate."

Wilson nodded. "The surgery's arranged for this Thursday afternoon."

"Nice Christmas present for somebody. Why are you waving around this obviously cancer-ridden scan?" House queried, handing said scan back to Wilson. "No diagnostic mystery to solve. You think it's got some other interest for me. Anyone I know?"

"One of my long-standing patients."

House's mind flicked through the Rolodex of Wilson's prostate cancer patients. "Not... Chris's prostate pal?"

"Linus," Wilson confirmed, closing the briefcase and sliding it down to the floor. "Yes, it's him. He's been in remission for years, until now."

_Ah_. House pondered the situation; it had been many years since Wilson's relationship with Chris had crashed and burned, and they were all supposed to be friends now, kind of. Nevertheless, House couldn't help but be wary; ex-boyfriends of Wilson were far more of a potential threat than all those ex-wives. Chris was irritatingly tall and fair and had a habit of wearing tight leather pants.

"I guess Chris will come along to give moral support," House probed.

"Possibly," Wilson replied, sounding carefully careless. His next words were obviously chosen deliberately, to point out Chris was himself also now attached. "Maybe Brian, too."

Now that was more like it. House liked Brian, although he would have had all his fingernails pulled out before admitting it in so many words. Brian was geeky and bearded and interesting. "They still living happily ever after by the Jersey shore?"

"Well, it's been a while, but last I heard, yes." Wilson nodded.

"Pressure's on for the perfect prostatectomy, then," House observed, and added with an off-hand manner, "Borrow Chase to help in the operating room, if you want. He tells me he needs more opportunities to keep up his super-surgical skills."

"I might just do that," Wilson nodded, smiling, and House knew he'd taken the offer as the message House had intended; _I'm okay with this. _"Anyway. Talking of prostates... I was thinking maybe we've been neglecting them recently."

Now _this _was why House had been waiting up. "Well, unless you've got any more diagnostically interesting scans in that case--"

Wilson leaned across to silence House's mouth with his own; the kiss at first tender, affectionate, pleased, and then increasingly prolonged and passionate. House kissed back and reached out to pull Wilson towards him. They nipped at each others' lips, earlobes, necks, while scrambling to remove clothing; panted, hugged, stroked at each others' cocks.

Then Wilson reached downwards with a slippery hand. And when House felt Wilson's finger arch up inside his ass and hit the right spot with the unnerving accuracy of--well, of a doctor, he came in an instant, spurting fantastically across Wilson's heaving chest.

He lay in orgasmic stupor for what felt like a few seconds (although Wilson insisted later that it had been a full _five minutes_, for fuck's sake) before Wilson jabbed him in the stomach and made him reciprocate.

* * *

Brian, Chris, Linus and Raul all arrived together at Princeton Plainsboro on Thursday morning. It had been a few years since Brian had visited Princeton Plainsboro. He looked around the foyer as they entered; not much had changed. Except everything seemed more spacious, somehow, and the place was festooned with tinsel and decorations for the festive season.

They approached the reception desk and a tall male nurse with dark hair smiled at them broadly. "How can I help you?"

Linus leaned his considerable bulk on the counter, and announced, "I'm here to have my prostate removed."

"Well, I'm very sorry to hear that," the nurse replied, with a wink that was definitely mischievous.

Linus beamed, winked back, leaned across the desk and said in an exaggerated whisper, "I'll still have it for the next six hours or so, if you'd like to come and tickle it for me."

Brian almost burst out laughing, and the nurse's grin was positively saucy.

_"Linus!"_ Chris rolled his eyes and dug his friend in the ribs. "Behave!"

"That's alright. I wouldn't dare risk the wrath of his beautiful sweetheart here," the nurse said, grasping the relationship dynamics of the group enough to accurately identify Raul. Brian was impressed. Raul opened his big dark eyes wide and shot the nurse a watery smile.

"Oh, Raul would be totally cool with it," Linus assured him, then sighed dramatically. "But enough of all this banter. The prostate must go. Where do we find Dr. Wilson?"

"You must be Linus," the nurse said, proving that Linus's reputation preceded him. Or possibly just that the reception desk had a list of prostate cancer patients due to arrive that morning. "My boss wanted to know when you got here."

"Not the delectable Lisa Cuddy?" Linus asked.

"The very same." The nurse picked up a phone and hit a button. "Dr. Cuddy?"

A minute later, a woman with big hair came striding up and greeted Linus with a warm handshake. "So good to see you again, but so sorry it's under these circumstances. Dr. Wilson is expecting you, of course." She turned to the nurse. "NurseSparkman, perhaps you could take this gentleman and his friends up to Oncology? I'll get someone to cover the desk."

So they all set off for the oncology department, Nurse Sparkman leading the way, chatting to Linus, Raul a pace behind. Chris and Brian lagged behind slightly.

"Looks like Linus is getting VIP treatment," Brian remarked.

"He's given a lot of money to this hospital," Chris explained, waving a hand towards a big wooden plaque on the wall as they walked past. Brian paused just long enough to spot Linus's name.

* * *

An hour later, Linus was comfortably settled in his own personal hospital room. It was large and tastefully decorated, as far as hospital rooms went. It also had a second bed in it, but clearly a donor of Linus's stature would not be expected to share.

Nurse Sparkman ("Call me Jeffrey, please!") got Linus into bed, hovered a little and left with some reluctance, promising Linus he would be back during his next break.

The atmosphere once Nurse Jeffrey left was uncomfortably quiet and rather strained.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" Linus chattered, overly bright, obviously covering up nerves.

"Mmm." Raul was right next to Linus's bedside but his voice was barely audible. Brian guessed Raul was battling his hospital phobia, concentrating on breathing properly.

"Yeah." Chris stifled a yawn. He had traveled to Princeton straight from one of his restaurants that morning, and was clearly exhausted. He sat slumped in a chair, trying to blink dark shadows away from beneath his eyes.

Brian was silent, feeling like something of a third wheel. Raul and Chris were both clearly worried sick about Linus. Brian was very fond of Linus, loved him very much indeed, but compared to Raul the life partner and Chris the lifelong best friend, he was a relative newcomer and didn't quite cut it.

Things got a little easier as flowers kept arriving, sent by Linus's many friends and well-wishers. Soon the room looked more like a florist than a hospital room. And then people started popping and out to say hello.

Dr. Wilson was first in, to make sure all was okay for the afternoon's surgery. He nodded cheerfully to Brian and smiled rather hesitantly at Chris. Chris smiled back, some light coming back into his tired gray eyes, and thengoddamnit if he didn't flick his fair hair back and straighten up in the chair, shifting position to show off his crotch. Brian swelled with indignation for a few seconds.

It was soon ascertained that no, Linus hadn't eaten anything that morning, all was fine and the operation would be going ahead. As they came to the end of discussion and Wilson looked at his watch, Linus remarked as if in casual conversation, "I know we talked about this before, Wilson, but do tell my friends here that I _will _be able to enjoy sex without a prostate, and I'm not going to be a eunuch for the rest of my life."

Brian knew that both Raul and Chris were far more concerned for Linus's life than for his sex life, but Chris grinned and Raul blushed a little, and it served to break the tension a little.

"Well, there will be issues, and obviously nothing can be guaranteed," Wilson hastened to say, then smiled reassuringly. "Prostate surgery doesn't affect the anus or rectum at all. The incision will take a couple of months to heal fully afterwards, it may take a few months for full bladder control to return, and erectile dysfunction is likely to some degree. But we can do something about that--Viagra, injections--and if all goes well, Linus can have a normal sex life just like before. "

Chris's lips twitched at the word _normal_.

Wilson departed, and Lisa Cuddy came in as he left. She and Linus embarked on a conversation about a new piece of equipment. Apparently Linus had contributed to its purchase, and it had made a big contribution to the workload of the oncology department.

"I'm delighted to hear it's been so successful. I'd be happy to contribute again if you want to buy another such machine." Linus paused. ", I'm sure he's got most important duties elsewhere, but I was wondering if there was any chance of having Nurse Sparkman look after me while I'm here?"

Cuddy hesitated. "It's not usual practice--"

"He was such a darling, I would feel _so _comforted knowing he was around to monitor my vitals and mop my brow," Linus bulldozed on.

"--but I'll see what I can do." The dollar signs in Cuddy's eyes were so obvious that Brian nearly started laughing.

"I would be so grateful," Linus said, without apparent guile.

After she'd gone, Chris said with amusement, "You're bribing her to put a nurse here so you can sexually harass him."

"My dear Chris, you heard what Wilson said, I'll be in no state to do a thing for ages after this operation," Linus protested. "I just want something nice around to look at, that's all."

Next in the door was a friendly doctor with an accent Brian couldn't initially place, but eventually decided was Australian. Dr. Chase was a surgical specialist and would be assisting Wilson with the operation. Brian hadn't met him before, but Linus greeted him like a old friend, and Brian learned that Chase had become friendly with Linus on his first stay at PrincetonPlainsboro when Chase had been a brand new and very junior fellow.

"And now you're all grown up," Linus marveled.

"But somehow I'm still working for House," Chase admitted. "He's something of an irresistible force."

Brian's ears perked up at the mention of House. "Is House around?"

"You know House? He's around. Diagnostics is just down the corridor, near the elevator." Chase jerked a thumb to indicate the direction.

Brian glanced sideways at Chris, who shrugged. Brian figured he wouldn't be missed for a while, got up and left the room.

* * *

Brian wandered along the corridor and saw through glass walls House in an office, sitting behind a desk, twirling an over-sized tennis ball on one finger. Brian waved; House spotted him, grimaced, and mouthed _go away_.

Instead, Brian smiled and came into the office.

"Can't you lip-read?" House groused.

"Can't you mind read?" Brian batted back, and plumped himself down on a smart yellow leather chair in the corner.

"You're here with Chrissy-boy and his prostate pal. Moral support for Wilson's big operation this afternoon." House cradled the ball between both hands.

"It's a routine op, right?" Brian asked, knowing House might lie, but would not molly-coddle.

"As far as radical prostatectomies ever are." House bounced the ball on the floor and caught it. "I've seen the file."

"You see all Wilson's files?" Brian was curious.

"Maybe." House was airy. "But I'm not the only one taking an interest here; our boss Lisa Cuddy is on the case too. Her technical name for someone like your pal Linus is _Super Donor_."

Brian nodded knowingly. "So he'll get the best possible care."

"Wilson always gives the best possible care. But yeah, with Cuddy watching on, it'll make it hard for me to bump him out of the queue if _my_ patient needs an operation this afternoon."

Brian hoped that House was joking, but played along. "Is that likely?"

House grinned. "Not unless I acquire a patient in the next few hours."

Brian grinned back. "Then I'll try not to keel over."

"You've been my patient before, I don't do repeats," House said loftily.

Brian had first met House in Princeton Plainsboro's clinic, several years ago now. "Oh, you'd do me if I was sick. I'd make you a cake."

"Am I so easily bought?" House's expression was pained. "Oh, alright, I am. If you make it plum pudding. I had a hankering for that the other day, like I had when I was in England one Christmas as a kid--a really old-fashioned rich kind of plum pudding."

"I could do that." Brian was solemn.

"Wilson can't, he tried to make one last year." House's lips quirked in remembered amusement. "It turned out more bowling ball than plum pudding.--Here comes Loverboy looking for you."

Brian looked up as Chris opened the office door and put his head inside, keeping his body firmly out of House's office.

"House." Chris's tone could not have been less enthusiastic.

"Chris." House returned a glare.

"Nurse Jeffrey's back, and he told us to leave." Chris addressed Brian. "He says Linus is over-excited and needs to relax before the operation, so Raul and I thought we'd go get something to eat in the cafeteria. See you downstairs?"

"I'll be with you in a sec," Brian assured, and Chris nodded and left.

Brian stretched in the chair and sat forward ready to leave, but stopped when House spoke.

"When did he last have a physical?" House asked abruptly.

"Chris?" Brian was surprised. "I don't know. A while ago. Why?"

"Firstly, he looks like death warmed up. And secondly, you don't look like you've been getting any lately."

Brian spluttered at the second point, but recovered quickly enough to counter, "And you call yourself a diagnostician?"

"Am I wrong?" House asked with an arch eyebrow.

"Yes, you're wrong!" Brian wasn't letting House get away with that. (Okay, so it _had _been a week or so... Chris had been busy... a week wasn't that long. Damn).

House shrugged. "Chris was always an over-sexed pervert. Fact. Frankly, I'd expect you to look more....fulfilled."

Brian pushed away the question as to quite _how _House had come to have that impression of Chris, and hastened with an explanation. "He's been working too hard, that's all. One of his restaurants is being refurbished, it's re-opening tomorrow. He's worked non-stop the last forty-eight hours, so he could leave it and come here to be with Linus. He drove here all the way from Atlantic City this morning on his motorcycle."

"He owns these places, right?" House said peevishly. "Why's he working so hard? Doesn't he employ staff to do the donkey work, like I do?"

"His manager there's a bit flaky," Brian admitted. "Guy called Micky, he tends to panic and call Chris if anything goes even slightly wrong." Brian didn't think much of Micky, but he'd been working for Chris for quite a few years.

"Well, tell him to fire Mickey Mouse and hire someone who actually does some work," House declared. "I'd tell him myself, but somehow I think he's more likely to listen to you."

Brian grinned at the thought of Chris's reaction if House tried to give him lifestyle advice. "I'll talk to him. After Linus's operation."

"I might go watch it," House said carelessly. "There's a viewing balcony for us doctors. I can shout down if Wilson takes the wrong organ out."

* * *

They returned to Linus's room after a quick meal, to find Linus had indeed relaxed in their absence. Nurse Jeffrey had quite the magic touch, Brian mused. Maybe literally.

Linus went into surgery that afternoon on schedule. Brian, Chris and Raul waited in a rather stark waiting area near the operating room. Raul was almost silent, sitting hunched up on his chair, as if concentrating on holding himself together.

Chris, by contrast, seemed to wake up following the food and some coffee, and started talking cheerfully, joking about Linus and his beloved prostate, telling some amusing stories about times past. It seemed to relax Raul a little, and Brian was pleased that Chris had shrugged off the tiredness.

Three hours later, House appeared from a side door. Neither Chris nor Raul moved; it was Brian who stood up and loped over to ask, "Well?"

"All good," House said simply, and ambled off down a corridor.

It was a relief, but Chris muttered darkly something about not trusting House any more than he could throw him, and they waited patiently a while longer before Wilson appeared. As soon as they saw him, the tension was instantly released. Wilson was wreathed in smiles.

"It went very well. Textbook operation. And we found that the cancer was still confined to the prostate, so hopefully that will be it."

"Thank fuck for that!" Chris said with feeling. Brian clapped him on the shoulder, delighted, then hugged Raul.

"Can we see him?" Raul asked tremulously. His expression had hardly changed, as if he wasn't quite letting himself believe the good news.

"Soon." Wilson reassured them. "He's in the recovery room right now, we'll move him to his hospital bed when he's ready, and you can see him when he wakes up, maybe in a couple of hours. He'll be groggy and sleeping mostly for a day or two."

"I need a drink," Chris announced fervently. "Wilson, can I buy you one? A very, very large one? A magnum of champagne, perhaps?"

Wilson laughed and looked at his watch, and decided out loud that it was the end of the day, he wasn't seeing any more patients, so perhaps he could just have one beer.

They went to a nearby bar, where a round went down very swiftly, and Chris and Wilson both followed their beer with a whiskey chaser. Chris and Wilson chatted in an animated way, and Brian remembered once again that they had been in a relationship. It had lasted six months, he'd heard; not long in the grand scheme of things. Long enough to give them some easy familiarity. Chris laughed at something Wilson said, and Brian reflected that Chris really _had _woken up now. The previous exhaustion seemed forgotten.

Maybe Wilson had this effect on him. Brian chided himself for having such a thought, and quelled the jealous pang. Wilson was with House and there was absolutely no danger of House allowing anyone to encroach onto his territory.

Chris suggested another round, but Raul demurred, and when Wilson remarked that Linus might be waking up soon, they all headed back together.

They returned to find Nurse Jeffrey Sparkman outside Linus's room, in conversation with a short doctor who Brian had not seen before.

"Everybody, this is Dr. Taub," Nurse Jeffrey introduced the newcomer as they approached.

"I work for Dr. House," Taub explained. He looked upwards at Brian.

"House sent you to check up on Linus?" Brian was surprised.

"No, actually, he told me to look for one of his friends, the tall fair one in the leather pants." Taub's eyes skated past Brian to Chris. "You're Chris? How are you--are you feeling okay?"

Brian turned, and found Chris leaning against the wall with one hand. He looked pale, much paler than he had done a few minutes before.

"I'm fine," Chris snapped, and there was a slight wheeze in his voice. "Just a bit--tired."

Alarm coalesced in Brian's stomach and shot through his body. "Chris? What's wrong?" Brian took a step towards Chris and put a hand on his arm. Close up, he could see a sheen of sweat on Chris's forehead, and Brian's alarm swelled mightily into near-panic.

"Stop it!" Chris pushed him away. "Look, Brian, I'll go see a doctor at home if you want, but not now. And I'm _not_ fucking well being treated by House--"

And he stopped suddenly, gasping, and clutched at his chest.

"Chris?" Brian said with mounting fear.

"Can't--breathe--" Chris mouthed, and then his eyes closed, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor.

_"Chris!" _Brian shouted in terror, and then all was chaos as doctors and nurses descended from all sides.

END OF PART 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Prostates and Plum Pudding, Part 2/2  
**Author**: hwshipper

**Summary**: Chris has collapsed; House, Wilson and the team are on the case with the differential diagnosis; Brian gets a shock.  
**Excerpt**: _House glowered at Wilson. A pair of deep brown eyes locked onto blue. There was a short silence in which Brian could almost hear an unspoken discussion, before House looked away and snapped, "Fine. I'll do it."_

**Prostates and Plum Pudding, Part 2/2**

A short while later, Brian found himself sitting in the conference room next door to House's office. He sat frozen on the edge of a chair, hardly able to take in where he was and what had happened.

Chris had collapsed and the sky had fallen in on Brian's world. He'd had to leave Chris unconscious, in the spare bed in Linus's room, hooked up to monitors and drips. It had killed him to walk away, to stumble off down the corridor in the wrong direction, but there had been nothing he could do. Nurse Jeffrey had promised not to leave Chris alone for a minute....

And now he was in a room with what felt like a small army of doctors around the table, House scowling at the head, Wilson at the foot, arms folded, looking at the table. Raul was standing right behind Brian, a comforting hand on each shoulder, but Brian barely felt a thing.

"...stabilized his ABCs," Taub was explaining briskly to House, and then added in an aside to Brian, "Airway, breathing, circulation. Then we treated for shock. He's on oxygen, taking fluids, and we're monitoring his pulse, blood pressure, breathing, temperature. So now we can find out what made him collapse."

"What's with the _we_?" House demanded peevishly. "How did I get sucked into this?"

"I want you to treat him," Brian stated. It was the only thing in the world he was sure about right now.

"I don't want to treat him." House was firm.

Brian breathed deeply, then said, "A pound of raisins, a pound of currants. Breadcrumbs, eggs, candied peel, brandy. And real suet from a butcher, that's the key ingredient. Boil in a cloth bag for six hours."

Everyone around the table except House looked at him as if he was mad.

House's expression softened a fraction, but his voice didn't give any ground. "The plum pudding bribe was to treat _you_, not your idiotic oversexed boyfriend."

_"House," _Wilson said in a tone of entreaty, and for the first time Brian was glad of Wilson's past affinity with Chris.

House glowered at Wilson. A pair of deep brown eyes locked onto blue. There was a short silence in which Brian could almost hear an unspoken discussion, before House looked away and snapped, "Fine. I'll do it. Right, what do we know about him? White male--"

Taub drummed his fingers on the table and interrupted. "Actually, the last thing Chris said before he collapsed was that he didn't want to be treated by House--"

"_Fuck_ that! Just find out what's wrong with him!" Brian almost yelled. Raul's fingers closed on his shoulder-blades, gently stopping him jumping out of his seat and decking Taub on the spot.

"Are you his medical proxy?" a female doctor at the table asked.

"Yes!" Brian was relieved to be able to say that.

"Okay then." Taub shrugged.

House lifted an eyebrow as if to say_ are you all done with the wankery?_, and carried on from where he'd left off. "White male, about my age?--" Brian nodded, and House continued in an absolutely flat tone, "Bar and nightclub owner, lives by the Jersey shore, drives a motorcycle, gay, with a history of sexual promiscuity."

Brian winced, and noticed Wilson was looking away, but neither of them said anything. If anyone else around the table wondered how House knew all this, none of them dared ask.

"In apparent good general health?" House asked, and Brian nodded again. House stabbed the table with a finger as he made successive points. "Recently stressed by working too hard on a restaurant refurb. Is here visiting his best friend who was undergoing prostate cancer surgery, another possible cause of stress. Collapses in hospital corridor with difficulty breathing, chest pain, elevated temperature and increased heart rate. Go."

"The restaurant refurb could have caused it," said a doctor whom Brian didn't know; large, burly, gentle expression, goatee beard. Like House, he wasn't wearing a white coat, although he was dressed far more smartly than House was. "Environmental. Toxic reaction to paint, glue, cement..."

"This restaurant's in Atlantic City," House sighed. "Before you go hightailing off down the highway, Foreman, let's consider other possible causes. How about the sexual promiscuity?"

"STDs?" Chase asked.

"No. We both last got tested just a couple of months ago." Brian was tense, but sure of his ground here. He and Chris had gotten tested following a brief disastrous encounter with a couple of men at a music festival. Chris's condom had split as he was pulling out of the younger dark-haired guy, and the older blond guy had yanked off his own condom and come all over Brian's face in apparent retaliation; Chris had been furious, and they'd all barely steered clear of a fistfight. "Everything was clear."

"Perhaps it's psychosomatic illness brought on by his friend having the surgery," the female doctor suggested.

"Collapsing in sympathy?" House shook his head. "No."

"Is he on any medication? Does he have any medical conditions?" Chase asked. "Allergies? Diabetes? Heart problems, perhaps?"

"No. Nothing. He's always been very fit and healthy." Brian's head was clearing a little now. He thought of Chris at the gym, running, on the bike... this whole situation was just inconceivable.

"Does he take drugs?" said the female doctor.

"No." Brian's reaction was instinctive.

House's snort was loud enough to be heard in the next room. "The man runs a string of bars and nightclubs."

"That doesn't mean--" Brian protested.

"And I _personally _remember him getting high the first time Wilson and I ever met him," House bowled on. "He takes drugs. End of."

Brian looked helplessly at Wilson, who gave an apologetic shrug, and Brian knew it was true--at least, on that occasion in the past. He then looked around at Raul, who also gave an apologetic shrug, and now Brian felt betrayed on all sides. "You don't know that!"

"Yes, we do," House declared. "It's drugs. What's Chrissy boy in the habit of taking these days, Brian? Pills? Powder?"

"He doesn't take anything!" Brian's brain was in a whirl, trying to remember any relevant conversation he'd ever had with Chris.

"Look, it doesn't mean he's an addict," Wilson chimed in, apparently trying to be soothing. "But if he takes something even just very occasionally, it might have caused this."

"You can test him, then," Brian said desperately. "That'll tell you one way or the other, won't it?"

"We can and will run a tox screen." House's voice was tight. "But it would save time if we knew what specific pill or powder we should be looking for."

"Depending on what he took, there might be an antidote, or complications," Chase said.

_He doesn't take drugs! _Brian wanted to shout. But another idea occurred to him, and he blurted out, "Linus would know. We can ask him."

Yes, Linus would know. Linus and Chris had been friends practically their entire adult lives. Linus knew Chris better than anyone in the world, including (Brian hated to admit) himself.

"He's just had major surgery," Raul protested immediately. "You want to wake him up and ask him something like that?"

At that moment Brian would have shaken the fragile recovering Linus awake with his own hands. "Yes. We have to."

"You can't wake him up with bad news like that," Raul objected. "He'll be worried! He might relapse, or something..."

Brian bit his lip and realized perhaps he was being heartless, but he wasn't about to apologize. Linus's surgery had been successful, while Chris was still unconscious and undiagnosed.

"Linus will be awake soon anyway, maybe already," Wilson cut in. "We can see what state he's in, if he's well enough."

"Then do it. Chase, go start the tox screen," House directed. "Taub, go through the patient's pockets and see if there's _drugs _stashed anywhere, then go help Chase. Foreman, Thirteen, get ready to go find this restaurant in Atlantic City, but don't leave just yet."

Everyone got up and left the room except House. Brian and Raul followed Wilson down the corridor back to Chris's room. Raul stalked along ahead of Brian, and when Brian caught up with him and put a hand out to touch his arm, he was shaken off with an angry glare.

* * *

Taub was there first, quickly searching Chris's few belongings; Brian gritted his teeth but bore it, and a minute later Taub shook his head and left the room; he'd found nothing. Chris was still unconscious, lying in the same position as before.

Nurse Jeffrey assured them that nothing had changed. "And I think all the palaver when we brought him in woke up Linus over there. He's sleeping but only lightly, I think."

A heavy curtain had been drawn across the room between the two beds. On the other side of the curtain, Linus was lying with his eyes closed, but his head tilted to the opposite side it had been earlier. As Nurse Jeffrey touched his arm, Linus's eyes flickered open.

Wilson stepped forward first, asking him a couple of questions, listening intently for answers, peering at Linus's eyes and taking his pulse. Apparently Wilson was satisfied, as he stood back and nodded at Raul and Brian. Raul came forward and clasped Linus's hand tightly.

"Linus, wonderful to see you, the operation went very well, the cancer's gone, you're going to be fine," Raul said, his voice steady.

"My darling Raul," Linus rumbled through a slightly hoarse throat. "So glad you're here with me. And--Brian, how good of you."

And Linus lifted his head up slightly to scan the room. He didn't say anything, but was so obviously looking for Chris that Brian's heart nearly broke on the spot. Brian didn't dare speak. He watched Raul shut his eyes momentarily, long lashes flickering, then open them sharply as if he'd made a decision.

"Linus, Chris is sick," Raul said, loud and clear, and Brian felt ashamed. "He collapsed and fainted and he's in the bed next to you. Dr. House thinks he's taken some kind of drug, but we don't know what. Do you have any idea?"

Linus closed his eyes. There was a long silence, and Brian thought maybe he'd fallen asleep again. But then his lips parted and a strained breath emerged.

"Cocaine," Linus whispered. "Always Chris's drug of choice. Not often...once, twice a year maybe. After Edward died... and when he was depressed.... not recently. Not for a long time, I thought. I always told him it was--is he going to be alright?"

Raul hesitated, and Brian knew Raul didn't want to lie, didn't want to pretend things were peachy fine if they weren't. Brian spoke up himself to utter the necessary platitude; "Yes, Linus, he'll be fine. We just--wondered."

"Good," Linus breathed back, and relaxed a little back into the pillows. There was silence for a minute, then Brian looked at Wilson, and they both slipped out of the room, leaving Raul by Linus's bedside.

House was outside, leaning on his cane, eyebrows raised.

"Cocaine," Wilson confirmed, and House nodded and wheeled off down the corridor towards his office. Brian and Wilson followed.

Foreman and Thirteen were back, wearing coats, sitting at the glass table. House joined them, slumping down into a vacant chair. Wilson came forward to stand at the side; Brian hovered by the door.

"Cocaine," House said without preamble. "Go."

"Cocaine can be cut with all kinds of crap," Thirteen said. "Sugars, anesthetics, cornstarch, baking powder, caffeine, heroin, other drugs..."

"Cocaine puts a lot of stress on the heart," Foreman took his turn. "It constricts blood vessels and can result in a rise in body temperature, burst blood vessels and, in some cases, death from brain seizures, heart failure and respiratory problems."

"When did he take it?" Thirteen asked.

Brian's mind was racing. "He... I think.... _shit_. It was during Linus's operation. Must have been. He'd been so tired, and suddenly he was buzzing with energy, I thought it was just adrenalin, stress..."

"Where were you?" Thirteen asked.

"We were in the waiting room by the operation room. He went to the bathroom at least once."

"Thirteen, go check the men's bathroom nearest that waiting room, see if there are any traces left," House instructed, and she got up and left.

"Does he smoke?" Foreman asked.

"Not for years." Brian knew Chris had once been a great smoker, but had given up when Linus had first been diagnosed with cancer.

"He's a drinker," Wilson said suddenly. "Scotch. Single malts. Is that right, Brian?

"Yeah," Brian confirmed, uncertain as to what Wilson was getting at.

"And when Chris collapsed we had all just came back from a drink at the bar over the street, to celebrate Linus's successful operation," Wilson persisted.

"Now you tell us!" House said in a tone of the utmost exasperation.

"Cocaine and alcohol," Foreman said. "Means--"

_"Cocaethylene," _House said, and the doctors around the table all nodded.

"What's cocaethylene?" Brian inquired.

Foreman stepped up to the mark. "Cocaethylene is a drug formed when you mix cocaine and alcohol. It's the only example of two drugs combining to form a third, once ingested, and it's more toxic than either of them on its own. Some people like the additional high. You get the euphoric aspect of cocaine, but also the depressive aspect of alcohol. It can lead to aggressive and violent behavior."

"Cocaethylene subjects the liver and heart to a lot of stress. People can have a heart attack or stroke, and die on the spot," Wilson went on. "People dying suddenly after only very small doses of cocaine are likely to have a high concentration of cocaethylene."

"And the thing is, it can build up over a long period of time. Years, even," House concluded. "You can be a social drinker, and an occasional cocaine user, and not ever be aware that cocaethylene is building up inside you. Until you go into cardiac arrest and die."

_Great_. Fucking great. Brian could hardly even think about what this all meant.

He sat back in a daze, while House called Taub and Chase back, and the doctors discussed what to do. They would check the extent of damage to the liver and heart. Any previously undiagnosed heart condition could be very dangerous; they'd do an EKG.... a CT scan of the head to check his brain, and a chest scan... benzodiazepines would reduce cardiovascular effects of the drug, and control tachycardia and hypertension...

Brian couldn't listen anymore; he got up and left the room.

* * *

Outside the hospital, he found a bench and sat down. It was freezing outside, and he wasn't wearing a coat, but he barely noticed the cold as he tried to absorb what he'd just learned.

He'd been sitting there half an hour or so when the bench creaked beneath him, and Brian awoke from his stupor to find House had plumped himself down next to him.

"So he's an idiot, and you don't know him as well as you thought you did," said House, his breath a cloud in the air. "Live with it."

"Yeah." Brian laughed through chattering teeth.

"Were _you _never tempted?" House asked with scientific curiosity. "When you were a high-flying lawyer? Is it not the champagne drug?"

"I tried it once or twice, didn't like it." Brian thought back to his bad old days at The Firm, when many of his fellow lawyers relied on coke to get them through heavy caseloads, long nights and legal headaches. He'd preferred the natural high of the courtroom victory, thrived on the challenges of difficult clients, coasted on the constant giddy whirl of pressure and stress.

"Not when you had your breakdown and quit your job?" House persisted. "During all those months of misery and suicidal sex and absurd alcohol consumption?"

"Nope." Funny how people could be so...different.

House shrugged, and said with an offhand manner, "I was a drug addict, you know? Vicodin, for years." His hand came out of his jacket pocket and his fingers twitched. "Sometimes I still think there's a pill bottle in my pocket. It was there so long it created a false presence."

Brian pondered why he was being told this, then said carefully, "I guess Wilson put up with a lot of crap from you."

"Naw, he loved every minute," House said carelessly. "Now, why are you freezing your ass off out here? I'm going inside."

He levered himself up on his cane and headed towards the hospital. Brian stood up, suddenly feeling the cold keenly, and followed.

* * *

Brian camped out in a hard hospital chair next to Chris's bed that night, unable to sleep at all. Machines beeped; janitors roamed with mops and brushes; nurses trotted back and forth.

He eventually drifted off just as daylight began to creep into the room. Time passed, and he was dozing lightly, when Linus's voice cut into his consciousness.

"Christopher."

Brian had never heard anyone call Chris by his full name before. Not Linus, not anyone. And there was no mistaking Linus's tone; this was a reprimand. Linus didn't need to say anything else.

Brian kept very still and pretended to be asleep.

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice mumbled, and Brian's heart leaped; Chris was awake.

"You could've died." Linus said.

"I know."

"And you'd have broken Brian's heart," Linus said unexpectedly. "You know better than _anyone _what it's like to lose someone you love out of the blue, just like that." Linus snapped his fingers. "Do you remember, Chris? Would you put Brian through what you went through?"

Linus was talking about Edward's death; Brian was awestruck by Linus's nerve.

"I remember." Chris sounded tired.

"Have we all just not noticed?" Linus demanded. "Have you been sucking this stuff up your nose recently and I haven't noticed?"

Brian shifted in his chair slightly to try and see Chris's face. Chris was looking across at Linus, but Brian could just make out a stricken expression.

"No. Christ, no. I haven't done coke for years," Chris insisted. "Not since I met Brian. Until this week. I had to get this restaurant done, I had to work through two nights so I could come here for your operation--Micky and I were both exhausted, he had some."

Linus snorted; his opinion of Micky was no higher than Brian's. "But it wasn't just at the restaurant. You took some here, in the hospital, while I was having surgery!"

"Yeah." Chris looked shamefaced. "I was so tired sitting in that waiting room, I did a line in the restroom. I needed _something _to keep me going--"

"Not--this," Linus said, putting considerable force into the words. "If work's the problem, then you have to stop working, like I'm going to. Like Brian did. Find something else to do. It's not worth it, Chris, it really isn't."

"Yeah." Chris sighed, and there was a short silence. Brian wondered at what point he should conveniently wake up.

"How did I end up as House's patient, anyway?" Chris asked eventually, fingering the wristband on his arm where his doctor's name was inscribed.

Linus sounded amused. "Brian was doing you a favor with that. One advantage of being treated by House, you know, is that you don't ever actually have to _see _him."

Brian smiled gently to himself and prepared to wake up.

* * *

Wilson was in bed reading by lamplight when he heard the front door slam; House was home.

"Hey!" Wilson shouted, picking up his bookmark from the nightstand and placing it carefully between the pages.

"Hey!" a muffled voice called back.

Wilson closed his book and waited patiently for the ninety seconds he knew it took House to drop his backpack on the floor, dump his coat on the back of the couch, leave his shoes higgledy-piggledly in the hallway, and join Wilson in the bedroom.

House duly appeared, looking about twice as unshaven as usual, and carrying a mysterious paper bag.

"Hey," House said, stopping to kiss Wilson on the mouth, then flopping down on his side of the bed.

"Hey," Wilson responded, and nodded at the bag, which House had set down on his lap. "Edible or lubricating?"

"Edible," House said with great relish, and opened the bag. Wilson peeked in and was intrigued. Inside sat a large round cloth bag, about the size of a soccer ball, neatly tied up at the top with a red ribbon. A sprig of plastic holly had been wedged under the knot.

"A pound of raisins, a pound of currants..." Wilson remembered.

"Plum pudding." House beamed. "See, I told you I'd contribute _something _for our Hanuk-mas dinner next week. Chris goes home tomorrow. His liver and heart are both functioning well--surprisingly well, considering. And if he doesn't take cocaine again, _ever_, the prognosis is good. So Brian's made it worth my while."

"That's great news, Linus goes home tomorrow, too. Nurse Jeffrey is already pining and making plans to visit him." Wilson sniffed the bag; a delicious alcoholic fruitcake smell wafted up. "Brian made this?"

"No, so perhaps I should sue him." House moved the bag out of the way, placing it on the floor. "He's staying with his sister in Princeton while Chris recuperates; it's the pudding she made _last _year for _this _Christmas, apparently. He's busy making two more in compensation now, for her for this year _and_ next year."

"It's been aged for a year?" Wilson was fascinated, and genuinely pleased at the prospect of eating such a pudding. He'd done some research for his own unsuccessful attempt at making one the year before, and knew it was hard work. "Very traditional."

"Yeah. Hopefully it improves with age, like wine and whiskey, and we're not going to come down with acute food poisoning."

"Is it an old family recipe or something?"

"Or something. It's the invention of Brian's ex, who's a chef. Plum Pudding a la Ethan, Brian called it." House nestled down comfortably into the bed. "Bit of a misnomer, don't you think?"

"Plum pudding? Because... there's no plums in it."

"Nor any Ethans." House hesitated, then went on with a ridiculously straight face, "Brian also managed to say, blushing through his beard, that if you and I were ever interested in a foursome, he thought he could talk Chris into it."

Wilson laughed. "And what did you say?"

House smirked. "I said fine, so long as I could do Chris and you could do him. Which may not have been what--no, I didn't say that!" he added hastily, as Wilson punched him on the arm. "I said I was sure_ you'd _be tempted--" Wilson punched him again-- "but it wasn't what we were about."

And that, Wilson reflected, was a good answer.

"Anyway." House snaked an arm under the bed covers. "Talking of plums... I was thinking maybe we've been neglecting them recently."

Wilson sucked in his breath sharply as a hand cupped one of his balls. "Um...yeah. We should do something about that."

House leaned across to silence Wilson's mouth with his own; the kiss at first appreciative and gentle, and then increasingly prolonged and passionate. Wilson reached out to stroke House's groin, then cupped one of House's balls with a little squeeze; House growled a little into his ear.

They sucked at each others' tongues, teeth, noses, while wriggling out of clothing; gasped, ticked and caressed at each others' balls. Then House reached downwards with a slick palm. And when Wilson felt House's fingers stroke in one beautiful movement all the way up from beneath the base of his cock to the very top, with a final artful flick across the tip, he came in an instant, spurting fantastically into House's fist.

He lay in orgasmic stupor for what felt like a few seconds (although House insisted later that it had been _at least an hour_, for fuck's sake) before House dug him in the ribs and demanded his own handjob.

END


End file.
